


Softening

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Feels, Brotherly Affection, Caretaking, Caring, Concern, Dysfunctional Family, Hair Brushing, Headaches & Migraines, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Introspection, Magic, Multiple Selves, Permanent Injury, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Divorce, Stress, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: In the aftermath of his suicide attempt, Chase struggles with tension headaches. He doesn’t struggle alone.





	Softening

Chase wasn’t exactly living a life of glamor. There was a lot that his vlogs didn’t show, a lot he commanded his editors to cut out, and the amount had only grown after his suicide attempt.

The fact of the matter was that he’d been running himself ragged in the course of getting back on his feet. There were so many papers he needed to sign—bills, for the most part, and some legal documents solidifying the evidence that his family was in shambles. Every time he picked up a pen, he remembered the cold knot he’d felt in his chest as he signed the divorce papers. That feeling never left him.

Thus it was safe to say that there were days when he felt much less than his best and had absolutely no energy to fake a smile. Today was one of those days; he had opted to give up on putting any vlogs out today and had sprawled on the couch in the living room, with a cartoon playing at a volume just high enough for him to catch a few words per sentence.

He wasn’t invested enough to try paying more attention and _certainly_ not invested enough to muster the effort and reach for the remote to turn it up. Instead he stayed perfectly still, one forearm flopped over his face in a vague attempt to seem comfortable and relaxed. It wasn’t working. Every so often he squirmed to find a better position—the only indication to the outside world that he was still alive.

It was in moments like these that his head started to throb, as if to remind him what he had done while he was alone in the silence and had nothing to turn to. He tensed as soon as the headache stirred, shifted so he could cover his face with one hand instead of the arm it belonged to. He breathed deeply, tried to remind himself that the bullet was long in the past. The pounding pain only traveled farther and he winced, trying not to shiver.

“Chase?”

The concerned voice broke his concentration; the vlogger shuddered once, twice, and then he couldn’t stop. Even so, his expression when he lifted his hand and looked blearily up at Marvin wasn’t pained. It wasn’t…anything. No emotion. All Marvin saw was the strain of fatigue and resignation.

“Chase…” he repeated in an almost warning tone, shifting closer to the couch.

“Hey, Marv.” Even his voice sounded off; it was too soft, too even, as if he was _used_ to this. Marvin felt a surge of helpless anger at the thought, but there was nowhere for him to _direct_ that anger. Chase wasn’t at fault.

He shouldn’t have to suffer this alone.

Without a word, the magician strode closer, skirting past the coffee table and taking careful note of the empty beer bottles grouped together on it. Chase followed his progress, seeming apathetic, until Marvin bent down over him.

“C’mere,” he murmured, sliding his arms underneath the younger Ego, who tensed a little as he was half-lifted from the sofa to make way. Once Marvin had firmly planted himself in the warm space just vacated, he slid sideways and took Chase down with him. For several seconds Chase remained stiff and unsure, his back pressed against Marvin’s chest. By the time Marvin was pulling the warmth of his cape over the both of them, however, he was gradually easing into the position.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“Yeah, I do,” Marvin huffed, nudging his nose into Chase’s matted hair, taking in the faint scent of sweat, old hair gel and shampoo that hadn’t been properly washed out. “We’re brothers… That’s what you always say, isn’t it? So I gotta be there for you.” That said, he lightly bumped the back of Chase’s head a second time, reeling back as much as he could when he heard the slight hitch in his breath because of it. “Oh…oh, I’m sorry. Headache?”

“…Yeah.”

Chase had hardly finished forming the syllable before Marvin was shifting, raising a hand and carefully sliding it into his hair, combing it back from his face. He could sense the moment when Chase closed his eyes, acclimating to the touch, and he couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over him when he finally leaned into the rhythm, willing and trusting.

Marvin didn’t bother to count the minutes, but it felt as if an eternity had passed before Chase’s breath deepened enough that he knew he was asleep. Once he realized it, he slowed his strokes, dragging his fingers gently from Chase’s crown to the side of his forehead. Hoping against hope that Chase wouldn’t startle awake because of it, he traced the scarring, creating a focal point for his magic there and whispering his spells.

The skin didn’t soften; the scars didn’t dissolve away. No matter what Marvin tried, they never would, but he _could_ feel his friend’s body relaxing, previously hidden tension loosening its hold on him just that much more.

It was enough.


End file.
